Night And Day
by Kei-chan1
Summary: The boys are put undercover and given an assignment that will change everything. Slash. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

_Night and Day_

_Chapter One: The Assignment_

Warnings: Slash, S/H. Nothing too graphic, but it's definitely there. If you don't like S&H together (but seriously, how could you NOT??) then I wouldn't read this story.

Author's Notes: I blame every word of this fanfic and my current obsession with a certain dark, curly-haired detective on Blintz, because, dammit, it's all her fault!!! But thanks, Blintz, for showing me that first episode of S&H, and aaaaalllll the great ones after it. (there's a wink here, but you can't see it ((illegal)).)

Detective Sergeant Dave Starsky whistled a tune as he took the steps two at a time up to his partner's apartment. Foregoing a knock on the door, he went right in, and headed straight for the refrigerator.

He dug through the health stuff, wrinkling his nose at the sight of carrot juice, until he found what he was looking for – the rest of the pizza they'd ordered the other night. Grabbing a piece, and pulling a bottle of coke off the door, he slammed the refrigerator door closed with his foot.

"Starsk, do you ever a close a door normally?"

He mumbled what resembled a "no" before boosting himself onto the counter and smiling at his partner. Ken Hutchinson, fresh from his shower, glanced at Starsky. "What?"

"Mornin' sunshine," the other said around a mouthful of pizza.

Hutch rolled his eyes, then took the towel from his neck and snapped it at his partner's leg.

"Hey!" he protested, nearly choking on a piece of pepperoni.

The two partners differed as much as night and day. In fact, night and day were as close a description of the two as it got.

Starsky, with his unruly dark, curly hair, slightly shorter, compact body, was night. His eyes were a sparkling blue, made more noticeable by his tanned skin, and his mouth sarcastic, but always quick to grin. His slight New York accent and cocky swagger gave him a "tough guy" look, but even his partner knew that he was a softy. Tight, worn, blue jeans encased his legs and hips, and a short-sleeved, navy blue shirt did the same to his upper body. He wore his short, black leather jacket over it, zipped up a third of the way. And, as always, his blue adidas sneakers were on his feet.

If Starsky was night, then Hutch was definitely day. He had hair of spun gold, which he kept short, and usually neat. He stood just slightly taller than Starsky, but with his lean, swimmer's body, it seemed that he towered over his partner. Aqua-blue eyes peered out of a stern, serious face, yet the man wasn't very serious. He was as quick to smile as his partner, and sometimes quicker to joke. He wore a pair of brown slacks, and had yet to put on a shirt, but he busied himself at the counter, dumping ingredients into a blender.

Starsky saw this, and made a face. "I don't know how you drink that stuff."

Hutch looked up at him. "This? It's good for you, Starsk."

"It may be good for you in the long run, but it helps to be able to get it past your nose," the other man quipped. "What's in that concoction again?"

"I've told you before."

"Yeah, but I always forget. Isn't there some kind of pessimistic liver in it?"

Hutch stopped his blended and stared at his partner. _"Desiccated_, Starsk, desiccated liver. And anyway, what's it matter? You'll never drink it again."

Starsky nodded once. "No, I definitely won't." Still, he watched as Hutch downed the mixture in a few gulps, swallowed hard. "You're a real piece of work, Blintz, you know that?"

Smiling, the other man put the glass he'd used on the counter, left the kitchen. Starsky finished his pizza, albeit with difficulty, and moved into the living room, drinking his coke as he walked. He waited until Hutch came out of his bedroom, clad in a light blue shirt and his light brown patent leather jacket, and the two went to the door.

"Think today will be any different from any other day?" Starsky asked as they descended stairs.

"Is it ever?" Hutch shot back.

"No."

Reaching the Torino, Starsky walked around to the driver's side, climbed in the car. The moment he sat down, the radio began to beep.

"_Zebra Three, come in, Zebra Three._"

Hutch slid into the passenger side, leaving the door open as Starsky picked up the radio. "Zebra Three, here."

"Captain Dobey wants you two in his office."

The two exchanged a glance.

"Roger that, on our way," Starsky said, defeated, replacing the radio. "Oh joy, Cap'n Dobey first thing in the mornin.' Shapin' up to be a hell of a day."

Hutch closed the door to the Torino, and Starsky pulled out, the bottle of coke nestled between his legs.

The moment the duo entered the squad room, their captain, a rotund, graying man, was standing before them. "In my office," he said. At their hesitation, he took a deep breath. "NOW!"

They followed him into the office, Starsky kicking the door shut. Dobey sighed exasperatedly. "Dammit, Starsky! Use your hands!"

"Sorry, Cap," the dark-haired detective said without much conviction. He perched himself on the arm of the chair Hutch was occupying, watched his captain.

"We got a case," the older man started, sitting behind his desk. "Calls for some undercover work. Think you can handle that?"

"Well, Captain, we are undercover cops," Hutch remarked.

Dobey sent him a look, then eased back in his chair. "We got a dead body just come in this morning. Worked at a warehouse that dealt in antiquities."

"Which one?" Starsky asked.

"A&R, down on Carson. Now, there's a catch..." the captain began.

Starsky groaned outwardly, moved to sit in the chair beside his partner's. "What is it this time?"

Dobey looked angry for a moment, and Starsky waited for the outburst. Instead, the captain leaned back in his chair, regarded the two detectives, and began to chuckle.

Starsky caught Hutch's eye, raising an eyebrow. The blond man shrugged.

"Uh, Cap? What's so funny?" Hutch asked carefully.

Wordlessly, he handed the file to Hutch, who opened, peered inside, and closed it with a snap. "No," he said.

The captain continued to laugh, and Hutch handed the file to Starsky, then pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Starsky thumbed it open, read the contents, and looked at Dobey.

The captain actually saw the expression slide down to open-mouthed astonishment. "Is this for real?" the dark-haired man asked.

"Absolutely, and it's very important. It's been common knowledge that the antiques they deal with are fake, we've just never been able to pin it on the owner, Clinton. And now there's a dead body involved."

Starsky looked helplessly at his partner, who was sitting with a mixture of utter disbelief and amusement on his face.

"How am I going to pull this off?" Starsky asked wildly. "I'm from New York... the _streets_ of New York. How am I supposed to be able to act gay?"

Hutch burst into laughter at the question, then stopped. "What, you're saying I'm not going to have any trouble?"

"Hey, Blondie, you at least have the sophistication and the looks to get by."

Dobey shifted his gaze between the two. "Hey, this is important, here. The guy who's dead, George Salem, fell from a catwalk almost fifty feet up."

"Fell, or was pushed?" Starsky asked, glad to be off the undercover topic.

"That's what I want you two to find out. He was supposed to meet one of the undercovers at our neighboring precinct to inform him of something, but he never made it."

"Oh, of course," the dark-haired man said. "Which means that it's pretty likely he was pushed so he couldn't talk."

"Exactly," Dobey agreed. "Now, you two get out of here and figure out your alias's and whatnot."

Hutch rose, stared down at Starsky, who was looking green. He swatted him on the shoulder. "You coming?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah." Starsky followed Hutch out the door and sat down at his desk, propping his feet on the top. Hutch stopped at the coffee machine, poured a cup.

Starsky said nothing until Hutch had sat down across from him. "Gay?"

The blonde stared at him, then started to snicker. "You should have seen your face!"

"You do realize what this means, don't you?"

The laughter died away. "What?"

Starsky rolled his eyes at his partner's obvious confusion. "They're sendin' us in undercover, _together._"

It was the emphasis on the last word that had Hutch frowning. _"Together_ together?"

"It's always together, Hutch, but this time it's _really_ together," he paused, batting his eyelashes, "honey."

Hutch felt sick. He didn't realize that it was meant that way. How in the hell was he going to pull this off?

"What's gonna happen to our reputations?" Starsky asked.

Dobey came out of his office, began laughing again at his two best detectives looking so forlorn, fetched himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Cap?" called Hutch.

The big man sauntered over to the desk. "What is it, Hutchinson?"

"Can we at least wear our own clothes for this assignment?"

Dobey's face turned red. _They're worried about wardrobe?!_ "I don't care what you wear Hutchinson! As long as you're convincing!" he bellowed, then strode back into his office and slammed the door.

"Well, that was smooth," Starsky commented.

"Shut up," Hutch shot back.

"I don't know if I can pull this off," the other man said quietly.

Hutch leaned forward, smiled warmly at his partner. "Hey, we'll pull it off the same way we always do. Together."

Starsky made a face. "I'm beginnin' to hate that word."

"But it's such a fabulous word!" Hutch gushed, blue eyes sparkling.

The curly-haired detective stared wide-eyed at him, then groaned. He knew Hutch's impression was right on, and his would take a lot of work.

In the end, Hutch agreed with Starsky that changing the inflections and accent were hopeless, and that he'd be better off speaking normally, albeit a bit more softly, and with different expressions.

Neither of the two could honestly say that they'd ever really been around gay people, but they were smart enough to know that they came from all walks of life. The cops hated stereotypes, and knew most other people did, as well. Therefore, their only problem was that their ignorance of the speech meant they had to fall back on their actions.

Given their already close friendship, both men knew body language wouldn't be too much of a factor. They simply had to convince the men at the warehouse they were more than just friends. They'd talked it over and agreed that holding hands would be relatively easy and painless, as would be simple gestures of affection, ones they used frequently anyway.

Starsky had insisted they use his car. Hutch had caved, on the condition that Starsky remembered to say nothing about the Torino's engine or shocks at the warehouse.

As they pulled up to the gate that separated the warehouse from the street, both men took a collective deep breath.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

Starsky smiled as best he could at the "guard." The man was wearing a flamingo pink leisure suit, for crying out loud, with a powder blue scarf tied around his neck.

Hutch grabbed Starsky's free hand, hoping to appear more persuasive.

"Dave Ryans and Ken Newman here to see Mr. Clinton," Starsky told him.

The guard checked his clipboard, then opened the gate.

"Go right on in, Mr. Newman," he said.

"No, I'm Ryans, he's Newman," Starsky corrected. He pulled the Torino through the gate, parked it at the end of a line of cars.

"Ready for this?" Hutch asked, climbing out of the car.

"No, but does it matter?" Walking toward the door, the two stayed purposefully close, allowing their arms and shoulders to brush against the other.

As they entered the warehouse, their eyes were assaulted by a myriad of colors. The gay community, it seemed, were very into bright colors.

One guy wearing, to Starsky's immediate shock, blue hot pants and a very tight blue woman's shirt approached them. "What can I do for you studs?"

Hutch sensed Starsky's unableness to speak right away, and stepped forward. "We're here to see Mr. Clinton," he said, shooting Starsky a warning look. "We have an appointment. I'm Ken Newman, and this is my partner, Dave Ryans."

"I'm Bunny," the man said, offering his hand to Hutch, who automatically kissed his knuckles. Starsky did the same, trying his best to keep a grimace off his face.

Bunny would have looked like a woman, if it weren't for the fact that he had closely shaved, dark brown hair, and his lack of breasts. He was tall and thin, not as thin as Huggy, who looked like a beanpole, but thinner than either of the two detectives, and nearly three inches taller than Hutch. His eyes were large and a dark, liquid brown. Not at all unattractive, but one look told you he was gay. Bunny carried himself like a woman, stepping lightly, swaying his hips, and even wore high-heeled sandals. Starsky had a fleeting thought that it would be hard to work in shoes such as that.

Bunny sent them back through the warehouse, instructing them that Clinton's office was all the way at the back. While they walked away, Bunny gazed appreciatively at the two rear ends.

"Bunny, who were they? They're hot!"

The man turned to a shorter guy. "Ken Newman and Dave Ryans," he said in a dreamy voice. "Don't get your hopes up, Brian. They're a couple."

The other man's face turned sour. "Damn."

"You're telling me."

The two detectives were nearly to Clinton's office when Starsky finally spoke.

"Bunny? His name is Bunny?"

Hutch shook his head. "I guess there are all kinds."

"And what was with the clothes?" Now he stopped and turned to Hutch. "And why'd you call me your partner? You're gonna blow our cover before we ever get it established."

"Starsk, when you say "partner" here, it's not as in working together."

"Oh." The bewildered man turned and rapped lightly on the office door.

"Come in."

He opened the door, let Hutch go through first.

"Ah, Misters Ryans and Newman." An older man stood from behind a desk that sat across from the door – both men were relieved to see he was wearing a normal suit – and extended his hand. "You're Ryans?"

Hutch shook his head and the proffered hand at the same time. "No, sir, I'm Newman. He's Ryans."

Starsky moved forward. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clinton," he said, shaking the man's hand.

Roger Clinton was an Englishman who'd moved to Bay City ten years before to start an antiques business. When he realized that they were expensive to buy and harder to sell at a profit-making price, he began to forge items. With a low cost of production and cheaper-than-real-antiques prices, he was pulling in a hell of a profit. The department had been trying to bust him for years, but had had difficulty getting the proof they needed to make the charges stick.

According the man himself, the reason he'd hired people of an alternate lifestyle was because he, too, was gay, and spent many years in England being harassed. The hard upbringing had given him a sympathetic outlook on anyone the same as he, and he wanted to give the gay community chances they wouldn't have anywhere else. In that respect, he was good guy.

Now that there'd been a murder, however, it was up to the two detectives to figure out the pieces of the puzzle, and fit them together.

"So, boys," Clinton sat down, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk for the two. "I hear that you've just moved here and are looking for jobs."

"Yes, sir," Hutch said, reaching over to squeeze Starsky's hand. "We heard from Lucky Eddie that this is a wonderful place to work, and you're, shall we say, sympathetic, to people like us."

"Sympathetic? Hell, it's a requirement!" the old man boomed, chuckling.

The other two shared his joke with a laugh.

"Okay, gentlemen, here's where it stands. I have room for you, that's not a problem. Lucky Eddie recommended you, and I respect his opinion. Beyond that, you two look very much in love, and it's quite refreshing to an old goat like me. Do you have a place to stay?"

"We've been living out of a hotel for a few weeks now," Starsky said. "Money's running a bit low."

Clinton nodded. "We have an apartment building just behind the warehouse, here. I believe I have one apartment open, if you'd like it."

Hutch smiled. "That'd be wonderful, Mr. Clinton."

"Good, it's settled then. You can start tomorrow. Take today to get settled in, meet some of the people here."

"It'll be nice working for you, Mr. Clinton," Hutch said, standing up.

The men shook hands, and the two went back out to the Torino to grab their luggage. They were given a key for apartment 366, and sent to the building.

When Hutch unlocked the door and it swung open, Starsky groaned.

"Don't they know that sometimes, all this color is just _too_ much?"

The apartment was really rather nice, if not a bit girly. The huge double bed was decked out in yellow sheets and a yellow bedspread. The living area was an insane blend of reds, blues, and greens.

"Oh, my God," Starsky said, staring wide-eyed at a painting on the one wall. It was a portrait of two men in a rather lucrative position. "Hutch, we have to live here?"

"Only until we get the info we need," his partner assured him.

"Yeah, and this is some great motivation to get it fast."

Hutch threw himself onto the bed, laid on his side with his head propped on one hand. "Hey, Loverboy, come here."

Starsky stared at him, unblinking. He walked toward the bed, never taking his eyes off his partner, until he could reach out and grab a pillow. He threw it hard at Hutch's head. "Don't _ever_ call me Loverboy," he warned. "I prefer Stud Muffin."

The blond laughed, dropping the pillow back onto the bed. "I'll be sure to remember that."

A knock at the door had Starsky turning. "I'll get it," he offered.

When he swung the door open, he saw Bunny standing in the hall. Or, he was fairly sure it was Bunny, since the man's face was completely hidden by a houseplant.

"Housewarming gift," he said, poking his head around the leaves.

"Oh, how sweet of you Bunny. Would you like to come in?"

Hutch entered the living area, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the plant.

"A _Codiaeum variegatum_! How nice of you!"

Starsky raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

Hutch looked at him. "It's a Croton, Davey."

The dark-haired man looked back to Bunny. "Kenny has the green thumb," he explained. "I'm afraid I just kill the things."

Hutch took the plant as Bunny sat down on the bold green couch. "It's so nice to see someone living here," he said. "It's been so empty since George—" he broke off, swallowing hard.

"Is he the guy that—"

"Yeah, he fell from the top catwalk," Bunny said tearfully.

Starsky sat next to him. "It sounds like you were close," he said softly.

"George was my best friend," Bunny told him. "It was no accident he fell."

"What do you mean?"

Bunny realized his slip. "Nevermind, it's nothing."

"You can tell us, you know. We don't know anyone else here."

"Don't say anything. George went up on that catwalk a hundred times a day, and he always wore the safety harness. Hell, he wore it around on the floor, too, just so he didn't have to keep putting it back on when he went up. It doesn't make any sense that he'd take it off." He sniffed and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry for dumping this on you, it's just that no one else speaks of it. It's as if George never existed."

Starsky patted his knee warmly. "It's quite all right, Bunny," he said. "If you ever need to talk, Kenny and I are very good listeners."

Hutch had arranged the _Codiaeum variegatum _near the window. He joined them on the couch, draping an arm around Starsky's shoulders. "He's right. We don't know anyone in town, yet, so it's always nice to have someone around to talk to."

Bunny grinned. "You two are so sweet. I hope I find someone someday that I can be in love with as much as you are."

"How do you know we're in love?" Starsky asked him.

He laughed then. "Are you kidding? It's written all over your faces! Look, I have to get back to work, but why don't you come up to my apartment for drinks later, around eight? I'm in 401."

"Sounds good," Hutch said. "Thanks Bunny."

"No." The other man stood, shaking his head. "Thank you. I'll see you two tonight."

"Bye," Starsky bid him, as the man known as Bunny left the apartment.

"Well, he's nice," Hutch said.

"Yeah, he is. I keep forgetting he's a guy," Starsky told him, a grin spreading across his face.

"It isn't hard to," the blonde agreed.

"So, this is something," Starsky began, grabbing paper and a pen from the inside of his jacket. "Bunny said George never took that harness off while he was working."

Hutch recognized his partner's decision to talk about the case, so he slid to the end of the couch and turned to him. "All right, what do we know?"

"George was supposed to meet with an undercover the day before he fell," Starsky said.

"And never made it, because that fall killed him," his partner put in.

"Right. Now, we have a witness who said that he never took off the safety harness, but when he fell, he wasn't wearing it."

Hutch sat in thought. "That would show that the fall wasn't an accident."

"Hmm," Starsky said, nodding his agreement. "So, George has some information, then has an _accident_. So now the question is, who killed him, and why?"

"I don't think it was Clinton," Hutch told him. He looked up, and was met with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because, after talking to him today, I got a feeling from him. He doesn't even realize that forging those antiques is breaking the law, or if he does, that's as far as he's ever gone. He's not a murderer."

"How do you know that?"

Hutch stared at Starsky. Sometimes his partner came off as a bit scatter-brained. "I've never met a murderer who grins like that, partner. He's too, _content_ to just kill someone."

"All right, so we rule out Clinton. And we can definitely rule out Bunny. That breakdown was anything but staged."

"Right." Hutch furrowed his brow. "So then that leaves about a hundred other men."

Starsky groaned. "Hutch, I don't wanna be here very long."

"Then I guess we better put our detective feet forward and solve this."

"Okay then." Starsky went to stand, but a loud grumbling stopped him. "How 'bout dinner?"

Hutch laughed. "That stomach of yours is always on time, even if you aren't."

"The reason why I don't need an alarm clock," Starsky quipped. "So, you cookin'?"

The blonde snorted. "Considering that what you call food is the equivalent to road kill, yes."

"Hey, that's not very nice, Hutch."

"Do you want to eat?"

Starsky mumbled, "Yes."

"Then shut up and let me cook."

TBC


	2. Bunny and the warehouse

_Night And Day_

_Chapter Two: Bunny and the Warehouse_

**Author's Notes**_: Black Crystall Draygon_** – **Thanks! I'm glad you enjoy it so far. And don't worry, you'll find out who killed him soon enough!

_Freddie_** – **Thanks to you as well. The thing I love about S&H is the goofy humor they have in the show, and I really wanted to get that across in my fic. Besides, Starsky is just too cute not to throw in some of the silly stuff he'd do.

_Gordo and Blintz_** –** Awww, thanks guys! You two rock, I didn't really expect reviews only because you've both read it already. So, thanks a bunch! Love ya guys!

**Disclaimers:** As I forgot this little bit of possibly important information... Starsky, Hutch, Dobey, Huggy, and the Torino aren't mine, although... oh, to have Starsky, it's just a great dream. Everything else in this story, Bunny, Mr. Clinton, the warehouse, and the other characters are mine.

* * *

Starsky knocked on the door to apartment 401, cast Hutch a pleading glance. "It's not too late to stay in and watch movies."

Hutch gave his partner a look. "Starsk, we have to make nice. Besides, maybe Bunny knows something else about George's accident that he'll tell us over drinks."

The curly-haired man shrugged. "Fine."

The apartment door swung open, revealing a dressed-down Bunny. He wore a simple pair of tan slacks, and a button down shirt in the same color. "Hi, guys!" he greeted.

"Hey, Bunny." Starsky smiled. "You look, comfortable."

The man on the other side grinned. "I have many personas. But at home, I'm lazy-Bunny. Come on in."

The two stepped through the door, and Starsky was amazed at how well put together his apartment was. Bunny seemed to have a knack for interior decorating.

The walls were painted a deep rusty orange, with random pieces of art hung up (Starsky was thankful there were no pornographic paintings) at varying levels. The carpet was, of all things, black, and very squishy. Cream-colored furniture set off the dark walls and carpet, giving the room a very spacious look.

"Have a seat," he said, indicating the couch against one wall.

Starsky sat down, threw his arm behind the couch until Hutch sat next to him, then draped the arm over his partner's neck. Hutch let a hand rest lightly on Starsky's thigh.

Bunny was standing in the kitchen, looking at labels of various liquor bottles. "What would you boys like to drink? I have some hard liquor here, some wine, and I can easily make daiquiris."

"Wine," they said simultaneously.

"Wine it is."

He entered the living room with three glasses, handed one to Starsky and one to Hutch, then sat down on the chair adjacent to them. "To love," he said, holding up his glass. "May it always be a shining beacon."

They all touched glasses, and Hutch took a long pull of his wine, while Starsky only sipped.

"So, are you ready to start work tomorrow?" he asked.

Starsky shrugged, set his glass on the table in front of him. "I don't even know what it is we'll be doing," he said.

Bunny smiled. "You guys will be in packaging. That's where the most help is needed. Of course, it probably has everything to do with the supervisor down there."

Hutch leaned forward. "The supervisor?"

"Oh yes, Mark is, quite possibly, the biggest, meanest son-of-a-bitch in this place."

The two detectives exchanged a look. "And he's the supervisor down there?" Starsky asked.

Bunny nodded. "Mr. Clinton has lost a good many workers because of Mark. He just won't fire him, though. Says he's too valuable to keep the operation down there running smoothly." He rolled his brown eyes. "The only reason it runs so smoothly is because everyone down there is scared to death of him."

"Why are they scared?"

The brown eyes focused on Hutch. "Mark has, let's say, certain _tactics _that can make a grown man weep. You two watch yourselves tomorrow. Anything out of line and he'd be ready to make an example out of you."

"Why would Mr. Clinton allow that?" Starsky took another sip of his wine.

"He doesn't know," Bunny muttered. "Mark has told just about everyone that if anyone tells Mr. Clinton about him, he'd kill as many as of us as he could."

Hutch looked to Starsky, who gave him an imperceptible nod.

"Bunny, do you think Mark could have been the one who pushed George off the catwalk?"

The lanky man nearly choked on his wine. "Who told you that?"

"No one... I—"

"Who said it, Ken?"

Hutch held up his arms. "Bunny, calm down. No one said anything. The way you talk about Mark, it just seems to make sense."

The other man leaned back into his chair, took a long drink from his glass. He sighed, then looked at the two men. "I don't know for sure, but it seems that way. Mark has free reign over the whole warehouse. He could have easily been up on that catwalk. He never liked George. Hell, he doesn't like anyone, but George, well, he always found some way to humiliate him in front of everybody. And while he was doing that, it sent a message to us all that said, 'Don't get on my bad side, or you'll be next.' I would sit up with George at night, and hold him while he cried. You don't understand yet," he said, staring at the two with wide, fear-filled eyes. "But you will. I just want you to know what you're going into down there."

"What kind of stuff would he do to George?" Starsky wondered.

Bunny shuddered visibly. "The worst thing he ever did, and I'm sorry to say that I had to witness it, was strip George naked, and make him stand on a box in the middle of the warehouse. Then he took a leather strap... and..." he broke off, unable to finish the story. The tears came, and he dropped his head into his hands, crying.

"I know that bastard killed George, but I can't do anything about it!" he wailed.

Starsky was off the couch in a few seconds, sitting on the arm of Bunny's chair, stroking the man's back. "Bunny," he said, his voice soft, sympathetic. "Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I c-can't!"

"Why not?"

Bunny sniffled loudly. "I have a record. A-a-and I'm still kind of on the run."

"From what?" Starsky pressed.

"I stole a car, when I was twenty," he said, his voice calmer now. "I'd been drinking, and wrecked into a building. No one was hurt, but I totaled the car and took off running. It was on the news about me, and I came straight here, begging for a job." He lifted his head and stared up at Starsky. "Mr. Clinton took me in when I had no where else to go. I can't tell the police about Mark. I'll lose my job, I'll go to jail, and so will Mr. Clinton."

He looked down again, and Starsky looked at Hutch, who'd been sitting on the edge of the couch in silence. They caught each other's eye.

"Well, I think that's enough of bad talk for the evening," Hutch said. "Let's do something fun. You have any games, Bunny?"

The other man looked up, a grin coming to his tear-streaked face. "Yeah, you boys like cards?"

"Of course," Starsky answered. "Who doesn't like cards?"

The next three hours was full of hand after hand of Rummy, and Bunny spent more time laughing at Starsky's glee when he went out than worrying about what had transpired in the beginning of the visit.

It was nearly midnight when Starsky yawned widely. Hutch noticed his partner's fatigue and laid his cards down.

"I think we're going to hit the sack, Bunny. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Bunny had noticed Starsky's yawn as well. "Yeah, it's getting very late."

The three walked to the door, and Bunny opened it. "I had fun tonight. It's the first time I had company since..."

Starsky placed a hand on his shoulder. "We know. We had fun, too. We should do this again."

The other man smiled. "I'd like that. If I'm not in the warehouse, I'm here, so feel free to drop by anytime."

"Same goes for you," Hutch told him. "Good night, Bunny." He leaned over and gave the man a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah, come on down," Starsky agreed, planting a kiss on his other cheek.

Bunny flushed a deep crimson. "You boys are too cute. Good night."

Starsky winked at him. "You're not so bad yourself," he remarked. "'Night, Bunny."

Taking Hutch's hand, Starsky went out the door, and the two walked side-by-side to the stairs.

Down in their own apartment, Starsky threw himself onto the bed, fully clothed. "I'm so exhausted," he complained.

"So get ready for bed, why don't you?" Hutch told him.

"Too tired to move," he mumbled. Starsky opened his eyes when a shadow fell over his face. Hutch stared down at him, a stern look on his face. "What?"

"You're not sleeping in the middle of the bed. There's two of us."

"Aw, man Hutch, I don't wanna move."

"All right." Hutch grabbed his partner by the shoulder and pulled him to the side, intent on rolling him off the bed. For all the weariness Starsky felt, however, he was quick enough to catch Hutch's legs with his and pull him down with him. They landed in a pile beside the bed, Starsky on top of Hutch.

"Oof!" Hutch groaned at the weight pressing on his chest. "Jeez, Starsk, lay off the beef burritos, will ya?"

"Lay off--?" Starsky's blue eyes went wild. He reached down and dug his fingers into Hutch's side, making the other man squirm beneath him. "I'll give you 'lay off the beef burritos,' Blintz!"

"Ah! Starsk, that tickles! Stop!" Hutch tried to heave his partner off him, but Starsk was now sitting his on chest, pinning his arms under his knees. "Dammit, Gordo, let me up!"

"You give?" Starsky asked, his tickling fingers paused.

"Yes! I give, now will ya let me up?"

Starsky got to his feet, extended his hand toward Hutch.

"I thought you were tired," Hutch grumbled.

"I was, but now you've woken me up." The brunette stretched, grinned at Hutch and moved to the other side of the room to find his sweats. He stripped off his clothes, pulled on the sweats, and folded his jeans and shirt neatly.

Hutch couldn't suppress a chuckle. Starsky was such a neat freak, it was damn near sickening. He stared at the bed for a moment, then looked back to his partner. "How are we sleeping?"

"With our eyes closed." Starsky made his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

While the water was running, Hutch changed into sweats and a tee shirt and stepped into the bathroom. He grabbed his own toothbrush and hip checked Starsky aside so he could get to the sink.

"You know somethin' buddy? You're a real pain," the shirtless man commented around his toothbrush.

"Still didn't answer my question."

"Hutch, the bed is huge. You take one side, I'll take the other. It wouldn't do for one of us to be sleeping on the couch if someone happens to come by before we're up."

The blonde shrugged. "All right."

They left the bathroom together, switching off the lights as they went. Starsky climbed into the bed, and patted the other side invitingly. "Come on, babe, let's get some sleep."

In the dark of the room, Hutch lay on his back, listening to Starsky's deep, even breathing. He didn't know why he couldn't sleep, even though he was tired.

_Yes, you do,_ a voice in his mind said. _You know exactly why you can't sleep, you're just too chicken to admit it._

Hutch rolled over, stared at the back of Starsky's head. Yes, he knew why he was awake, watching his partner sleeping. But the words could never be spoken. He wouldn't ruin his friendship with Starsky by admitting it. He could imagine Starsky's response. The blank face, followed by shock, then morphing into anger. Starsky wouldn't understand, he wouldn't be able to comprehend what Hutch was telling him. No, Hutch wouldn't say anything. He treasured his best friend far too much to do that.

_I love you, Gordo,_ he thought, a smile curving his lips. _Let's just hope I can survive this assignment without messing up._

It took him a few minutes to realize that Starsky's breathing had changed. The other man turned over, slate blue eyes drilling into his own. "What's buggin' you, Hutch?" he asked quietly, his words slurred from sleep.

"Nothing," he lied. "Just can't sleep."

Starsky smirked. "Hutch, you sleep like the dead unless something's wrong."

_Leave it up to him to know me so damned well,_ he thought. "Just thinkin'."

"'Bout the case?"

"Yeah, about the case." _If he'll believe that..._

But the curly-haired man was already sitting up, staring down at him. "Blintz, come on. There's something seriously bothering you, now what is it?"

Hutch felt a spurt of anger. Dammit, he wouldn't tell him! "Starsk, really, it's nothing. Go back to sleep."

He looked as though he would press more, but the pleading look in Hutch's eyes stopped him. "Okay, g'night." And with that, he lay back down, turned away from his partner, and fell almost immediately back to sleep.

_He's not going to let that go,_ Hutch knew. _He'll badger me until I tell him, and then all hell will break loose._ Sighing, the blond man rolled over, facing the opposite side of the room, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him.

* * *

Hutch woke to the sound to the sound of the alarm clock blaring in his ears. With his eyes still closed he inhaled deeply, and suddenly couldn't breathe. Eyes snapping open, he was assaulted by something dark, and soft, and suffocating. When he forced the panic away, he realized it to be Starsky's hair. He rolled away from the breathing obstruction, coughing.

His sleeping partner was awake instantly. "Hutch? You okay, buddy?"

With a short nod, accompanied by more coughing, Hutch finally sat up, sucked up in deep breaths. "Damn that hair of yours, Starsk!" he sputtered, his voice hoarse.

The still half-sleeping Starsky stared at him. "What?"

"Your hair was choking me!"

For a moment he said nothing. "Well, if you wouldn't hog the bed, you'd have plenty of breathing room!"

Hutch looked down and saw he was, indeed, in the middle of the bed. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Ask your leg," Starsky replied, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He reached out and stilled the shrill buzzing of the alarm clock, quieting the room.

"Ask my--?" Hutch threw the covers back, looked down at his right leg. It was littered with bruises along his shinbone. "Starsk, did you kick me?"

"Repeatedly. You damn near pushed me out of the bed a few times."

Hutch groaned. "Just for that, I get the shower first."

"Fine, I'll make breakfast." He paused long enough to see the panic in the blonde's eyes. "Coffee, Hutch. I'm only making coffee."

* * *

When they entered the warehouse an hour later, Hutch had to stifle a yawn. Those sleepless hours he had devoted to moping were catching up with him already. The two walked down to the packaging area, which was in the basement, side-by-side. Starsky was whistling as he always did, and strutting along in a pair of tight blue jeans and a red shirt, his blue adidas making no noise on the concrete floor. Hutch walked, suppressing the urge to yawn again, in his own jeans and a button down flannel shirt.

They strolled into the room where they would be working, and stopped abruptly as one. In the center of the room, barking orders like Hitler, was a monster of a man.

He was at least 6'4", with huge, bulging muscles. Starsky remembered Hutch saying something about men on the Big D, and knew this just had to be one of them. He had a military-style haircut, and his box-shaped face was clean-shaven. Big, stubby fingers curled around a clipboard that looked half the size of a normal one in those huge hands.

The two detectives turned to look at each other, and both understood the glance. _Be careful._

"Ryans! Newman!" the man bellowed.

They walked up to him. "Here, sir," Hutch said.

"Oh, you're the new guys, ain't ya?"

Starsky nodded. He already didn't like the guy, but since he wasn't a cop here, he chose to remain silent. If he didn't, he'd say something that would get his ass handed to him. _And I definitely don't want that guy's hands on me,_ he thought.

"Yeah, you'll be over here," he said, jerking his head in an order to follow him. They walked after him in silence to a conveyor belt. "All you're going to be doing is stuffing the boxes that come through there with styrofoam. Hinkley here will show ya."

With a nod from them both, the man walked away, shouting again to other people in the room.

The man Mark called Hinkley breathed a sigh of relief the moment Mark was out of range. "Whew. I was scared there for a moment."

Hutch turned to look at him. "Scared?"

He nodded. This man was shorter than the two, and almost painfully thin. Long, curly, dirty blond reached his shoulders and green eyes were wide with fright. _My God,_ Hutch thought. _He's only a kid._ Hinkley looked to be about twenty years old, and the way his clothes hanged off him, it seemed he didn't eat much.

"Brian Hinkley," he said timidly, holding out a hand. "I saw you guys come in yesterday."

"Ken Newman," Hutch returned the handshake. "This is Dave Ryans." Starsky was staring after Mark, his blue eyes dark with suspicion. When Hutch grabbed his shoulder, he whirled around.

"What? Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you, Brian," he told him absently, shaking his hand. He turned his head back, watching Mark berate a worker for being late. "What a chump," he muttered. 

"Shhh!" Brian pressed a finger to his lips. "You don't want to say anything about Mark that he might hear."

As Starsky watched the big man glance over at them, he knew he was gauging them. He turned back. "Okay, show us how it's done."

For the next three hours, Starsky, Hutch, and Brian packed boxes. It was a devastatingly easy job, and Starsky was bored within minutes. Hutch could see his partner getting antsy from standing in one place so long, doing the same thing over and over. He sent a silent plea to whoever might be listening that lunch would be soon.

As a loud crash echoed through the room, the two men jumped, and Starsky reached for the gun he knew wasn't there.

"Dammit, Perry!" a voice roared.

Abandoning the boxes, the three men eased around the side of the conveyor to see what happened. A broken vase lay in the center of the floor, and a trembling young man stood over it, face turned away from the large man looming over him.

"That's the third vase in ten days! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Perry cringed. "It slipped out of my hands, sir," he said weakly.

"'Slipped out of your hands?' Maybe you should invest in some soap to wash the grease off of them!" The big man lifted an arm, and a hand came crashing down on the back of Perry's head, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Starsky hoped that was all he would do, but inwardly, he knew that it wasn't over yet.

"I'm s-sorry," Perry stuttered.

"Sorry doesn't repair the vase, now does it?" Mark asked him, voice deadly calm. He lifted a foot, sent his boot crashing into the man's ribs.

The man screamed, curling into a ball on the floor. Starsky started forward to put a stop to it, but Hutch grabbed his arm.

He looked at him, stunned. Hutch shook his head slowly, but kept his hand on Starsky's arm. The brunette stepped back, standing at Hutch's side. He wasn't surprised when Hutch's hand slid down his arm to grip his own. Starsky squeezed back, sending all his frustration into the grip.

"And as for the rest of you!" Mark bellowed, whipping around to stare at Starsky and Hutch in particular. "Take your lunches! Get the hell out of my sight!"

People bolted for the doors. Brian gave a strangled cry as he saw Mark coming their way and spun around, making his exit quickly from the two men who stood their ground.

When Mark reached the two, Starsky let go of Hutch's hand. They stared at him, fire burning in their eyes. What had just happened was something they should have stopped, something that, as two police officers, never should have even happened.

"You two," Mark said, his voice taking on a deadly edge. "This is how it's done. Say anything and it'll be you laying on the floor." He stormed away, leaving the two detectives and Perry the only people in the room.

Starsky rushed over the fallen man. "Hey, are you all right?"

Perry groaned. "I'm fine."

Starsky looked him over. "No, you're not." He applied a slight pressure to his side, causing him to cry out in pain. "You have some broken ribs."

"No, it's all right, really." He climbed unsteadily to his feet, swayed, and nearly went down again. Hutch caught him by his arms.

"You're hurt," he said simply.

Perry's face turned bright red with rage. "I said I'm fine!" He wrenched out of Hutch's grip. "Mind your own business and leave me the hell alone!" Breathing loudly, he gazed wildly around the room.

"He's crazy," Starsky whispered to Hutch.

"Perry, calm down," Hutch urged.

"I said leave me alone!" the man screamed. He turned and fled the packaging area as quickly as his battered body would allow.

Now alone in the large room, the two detectives looked at each other.

"What the hell just happened?" Starsky asked.

"I don't know," Hutch admitted. "Maybe he just couldn't take the abuse any longer."

The moment was ruined by a loud grumbling issuing from Starsky's stomach. "Hey Hutch, let's go eat before we have to come back to work."

The blonde shook his head, but started toward the door. Starsky followed him and they took the stairs up to the main part of the warehouse together. Once there, Bunny weaved his way through the crowd of workers to them.

"What happened to Perry?" he asked in a low voice

"Dropped a vase," Starsky told him. "Mark didn't take it so well."

"He'll probably quit," Bunny said. "They all quit after a while. Then Mark will find someone else to beat up on."

_TBC_


	3. Poor Starsky

_Night And Day_

_Chapter Three: Poor Starsky_

**Author's Notes:** _Black Crystall Draygon –_ Again, thank you for the review. Yes, Mark is quite evil, and quite nasty, and you'll find out soon exactly what he has in store for our beloved detectives.

_Gordo (again) – _Thanks! I had a great birthday! No Guiness, but I got some New Castle, which is imported English Brown Ale, and that's just as good. And I'll send you Cryssie Ficcie as soon as I post this.

_Freddie – _Thank you once again for the review, I appreciate it a lot!

_Oni3 – _As I said in my email, there aren't a lot of slashy fics, and I'm glad that I could give you one to keep your interest in. Thanks!!

**Disclaimers:** As I said before, the beautiful boys aren't mine, the car's not mine, hell, the only thing I own is the flamboyant gay man, the evil warehouse guy, and the other minor characters in this fic.

**Warnings: **A bit of the ol' F word thrown around in this chapter. And the start of some decent slash.

* * *

Perry did quit, as Bunny knew he would. The packaging room was very quiet for the rest of the week, as no one wanted to do anything to upset the large man. Starsky and Hutch were nearly sure that Mark had something, if not everything, to do with George's accident, though they couldn't prove it yet.

"I'm tellin' ya, Cap, it's him."

They were on the phone with Dobey on Saturday, lounging around the apartment. Hutch had forced Starsky to take a morning jog with him, as they hadn't had much exercise packing boxes with Styrofoam peanuts.

"Do you have proof?" Dobey's gruff voice boomed over the line.

Starsky winced. "No."

"Then I suggest you get working on it!"

"Cap..." Hutch was on the other extension, listening in. "True, it's all circumstantial, but how are we supposed to get proof on something like that?"

"You're the detectives, figure it out!"

The line went dead, and the two hung up their receivers.

"Get proof," Starsky muttered. "Okay, I'll just walk up to him, and ask, 'Hey, Mark, did you kill George?' and he'll go, 'Why, of course I did,' and then we can cuff him and take him in."

Hutch grinned. "I wish it were that easy. No, what we need is some kind of plan."

"Mark hasn't picked his new punching bag yet."

"So?" The blond paused in his pacing of the room, looked at Starsky who was sitting on the couch.

"So, let's choose it for him."

"Starsk, no way, forget it."

"Come on, Blintz, it's the only way." Starsky's voice was quiet, resigned. "We need proof."

"Getting yourself killed is _not_ the way to do it."

Starsky picked himself up off the couch. "Look, I can handle getting a few beatings. You don't become a cop and not expect it. What else do we have?"

Hutch stood staring at him, into those clear, stubborn eyes. _Starsk, I don't think I can handle watching you get hurt. No, I_ know _I couldn't handle it._ "Gordo, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. How can you expect me to watch you take a beating from that jerk?"

"It's part of the job."

"Like hell it is!" Hutch yelled, exploding. "Can you honestly say you'd be able to watch someone beat on me and not do a damn thing about it?"

"No," Starsky whispered. "I couldn't."

"Then how in the hell can you ask me to do it?" Hutch stepped forward, rested his hands on his partner's shoulders. "Starsk, we back each other up, always. We'll find another way."

Deciding the conversation to be over, Hutch pulled him into a hug, clung to him. _I won't do it,_ he thought. _I won't let that guy touch you._

Starsky brought his arms around Hutch. _He's right. I wouldn't be able to watch it, and it's unfair of me to ask him to do it. Love you, Hutch._

There was a knock at the door, and it swung open. The two men jumped backward on instinct, but it was only Bunny, decked out in a pair of tight fitting slacks that flared dramatically at the legs, and a shirt tied where, if it were a woman, her breasts would be. A pair of sunglass rested on his nose, shielding his eyes.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt," he said, smiling widely. "Please, finish up what you were doing."

The two blushed simultaneously, and Hutch turned back to Starsky. _Do it, he'll know it's only for show._ He leaned in and brushed his lips over the other man's, softly, teasingly. He felt Starsky stiffen, but relent.

_You're supposed to be together,_ Starsky reminded himself. _This just goes with the territory._ So, why did it feel so good? Why did it feel so right? _Wait! I'm not gay! And I'm not in love with Hutch! I just love him._

Hutch's mind was spinning. Starsky's lips were exactly as he'd imagined they'd be, soft, inviting, and... responding? He was responding to the kiss? _This is so weird,_ Hutch thought. _So weird, but so right._

He pulled back, flashing Starsky a grin. The other man hesitated, but allowed a smile to creep onto his face. They turned to Bunny and grinned even wider. "You enjoy the show?" Hutch asked.

Bunny held a hand to his heart. "You two are so cute," he gushed. "If you were to ever break up, I'm afraid I couldn't choose who to go after."

They shared a laugh, which eased the tension between the detectives considerably. "So, Bunny, why are you all dressed up?" Starsky asked, falling back down onto the couch.

"It's Saturday!" he told them. "Shopping day! You boys interested?"

Hutch turned to look at Starsky, who was silently pleading with him. "Oh, well, Bunny, we have some uh, personal stuff to take care of. Call our mothers, let them know we're settled in, things like that."

"Oh." Bunny looked disappointed for a moment, then seemed to shake himself. "Okay, then I guess I'll see you later." He turned to go, but stopped when Starsky called out his name.

"Do you wanna go out tonight?" the brunette asked, feeling bad. "Get some pizza, some beer, listen to some tunes?"

The other man's face lit up. "I'd like that. How about seven?"

"Perfect," Starsky agreed, smiling at how happy Bunny was.

After he'd left, Hutch turned back to him. "You handled that well," he commended.

"Yeah, well, if you just pretend he's a woman, it sort of just works on its own."

"So," Hutch said, sitting down beside Starsky on the couch. "That was, um, strange."

Starsky grinned at him. "Bunny enjoyed it." _And you did, too, you curly headed moron._

"Yeah. Do you wanna go over what we have so far?" Hutch asked, feeling the oddness emanating from Starsky.

"Yeah, let's do that."

In a few minutes, they had the case file spread all over the floor, and were both sitting on the floor, beers open and on the table. They poured over them, reading and re-reading things they thought they may have missed. After an hour, Starsky sighed heavily.

He picked up a page, stared at it. "Oh, hell, Hutch, these aren't telling us anything we don't already know."

"I know," his partner agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why don't we call Huggy, see if he's heard anything?"

"Good idea," Starsky said, standing up and stretching with a groan.

While Hutch went to the phone, Starsky wandered into the kitchen, dug for a bag of corn chips he knew he'd bought. Finding them, he tore the bag open, popped a few into his mouth.

"Hey, Hug, it's Hutch. Not too much, how are you?" Hutch's voice filtered through the doorway.

Starsky sat down at the kitchen table, stared into space. What was going on with him, lately? _This assignment must be getting to me,_ he thought. _How could I have enjoyed a kiss with Hutch? It's_ Hutch _for crying out loud._ He rubbed his face with his hands. _And for that matter, why'd he even do that? We could have just acted embarrassed and not done it at all_

Why had Hutch kissed him? His mind wandered as he chewed on the chips. It felt... good, he realized. He had actually _liked_ kissing Hutch. No, that was insane! This was his partner, his best friend, the person he shared just about everything with. He couldn't be... _in love_ with him, could he?

_Oh, sure, why not,_ he told himself. _And while you're at it, start dressing like Bunny and wearing barrettes in your hair._

He snorted at that thought, but the thoughts kept coming. _What if I am? What if I'm in love with Hutch? I'd know it, wouldn't I?_

Hutch walked into the kitchen, saw his partner sitting at the table, staring at nothing.

_God, Starsk,_ he thought. _If only you knew half of what I felt._

"Huggy's got nothing," he said, dropping into the seat beside him.

Starsky started. "Back to square one," he muttered.

"What's bugging you?"

"Nothing."

"Starsk, come on. I can tell something's up. You never sit and stare off into space unless there's something on your mind."

He stood. "Nothing's wrong Hutch, really, I'm fine." He paused, shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm goin' for a walk," he said, then turned and left the room. A few seconds later, Hutch heard the door close.

"Way to go, Hutchinson," he said aloud. "You kiss the guy and actually succeed in making him walk away." Starsky had never walked out before. They'd always been able to talk about whatever was wrong with the other. Now...

_Now you're the problem,_ came the thought. _Smooth, very smooth._

Deciding to give him one hour, Hutch chose to take a long, hot shower. If Starsky wasn't back by 5, he'd go looking for him.

* * *

Starsky walked along the side of the warehouse, hands jammed in his pockets, head bent down. He wasn't walking with his usual cocky swagger, instead, he seemed to just move his legs, figuring the rest of his body to follow.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he thought. _Why did Hutch and I ever take this case? It's making things weird._ He wished he had someone to confide, someone he could talk to. Usually, that person was Hutch, but it wouldn't do to talk to the person with whom all the confusing feelings were about, would it?

_Hutch wouldn't understand,_ Starsky told himself glumly. _He'd laugh at me and say I was being silly._ Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Hutch never laughed at him for things when he was being serious. _No, he'd tell me that it was just the case, just the stress of it._

Pausing near a window, he took a deep breath. Why had he run out like that? He'd never walked out on Hutch before. It hurt, he realized. It hurt to leave his partner the way he did. Deciding to go back and make up something, he made to turn around.

Loud, angry voices stopped him.

"Mark, you gotta stop! You already killed one guy, how many more are there?"

"Rocco, they're stupid. They're stupid, fucking queers! The only reason I have this job is because Clinton is my uncle, and he pays me well. I hate them all!"

Starsky leaned against the building, listening through the open window.

"Yeah, but you messed up. People know that George's death wasn't an accident. He never took that damn safety harness off, even you know that."

"It doesn't matter. The only one saying anything is Bunny." His voice took on a high-pitched tone. "'Oh, what happened to George?' He's gonna have to go." Now there was a deadly edge to it. "Can't have someone asking questions all the time."

Starsky's head snapped up. Bunny? Mark was going to kill Bunny? No way, he wouldn't let that happen. Stepping backwards, he turned to run back to the apartment, to tell Hutch what he'd heard. He didn't notice the garbage can near the building until he tripped over, sending him sprawling to the ground.

_Way to go, ya klutz,_ he berated himself. The noise had alerted the two men in the building, and both came running outside.

Mark grabbed the collar of Starsky's shirt. "What did you hear, you queer?" he asked.

"I didn't hear anything," Starsky said. "I was just takin' a walk, getting' some fresh air. I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'."

"Sure ya were," Mark said. "Hey, Rocco, you think he's telling the truth?"

A man the same size as Mark sneered. "Hell, no. He probably heard everything."

"Guess I'll have to teach you a lesson about eavesdropping there, Ryans."

Starsky tried to back up as the two men advanced on him, but they were too fast.

* * *

Hutch paced the length of the living room one last time, then sighed. It'd been an hour and a half. Deciding he wasn't waiting any longer, he grabbed the room key off the table, and left the apartment.

He didn't know which way Starsky had gone, but he had a feeling he'd taken the Torino for a ride. So, he started toward the parking lot, walking down the street that ran along the warehouse. It was then he saw a figure lying the pavement, unmoving. Hutch broke into a run. He'd recognize that head of dark, curly hair anywhere.

"Starsk! Starsky!" he called as he reached him. Dropping to his knees beside him, Hutch gripped his shoulders, rolled him over. Starsky's face was dripping with blood. It oozed out of a large gash across his forehead, gushed out of his nose, and even leaked out of a cut on his lip. "Hey, buddy, wake up."

The man in his arms gave a groan, and pain-filled blue eyes fluttered open. "Hutch?"

"Yeah, it's me," he told him. "What happened to you?"

"Mark..." Starsky's eyes went wide and he struggled to sit up. "Hutch, they're goin' after Bunny. Gotta stop them..."

Hutch helped him to his feet. "Okay, but first we're gonna get you back to the apartment, and cleaned up."

"No, m'fine," he said, as he swayed on his feet.

"Yeah, sure you are, Gordo." Hutch put Starsky's arm around his shoulders, wrapped one of his own securely around his waist. "Come on, let's go."

With help from Hutch, the two slowly made their way back up to their apartment and into the bathroom. Hutch deposited Starsky on the toilet lid, dampened a washcloth.

"All right, buddy, let's get you cleaned up a little."

With amazing gentleness, Hutch began to wash the blood from Starsky's face. "So, tell me what happened."

"I was just out walkin' tryin' to clear my head," Starsky began. "I heard voices from inside the warehouse. Mark and his goon friend, Rocco. They were talking about George. They killed him. I heard it with my own ears. Then Mark said they had to take care of Bunny, 'cause he was askin' too many questions. I went to run back here and tell you, but I tripped over a garbage can."

"Klutz," Hutch said gently and with fondness.

"What about Bunny?" Starsky asked.

"He's still shopping, I don't think we'll have to worry about him for now."

"Ow."

Hutch bandaged the gash on his forehead, and the bleeding from his nose and lip had already stopped. "All right, buddy, you're all patched up."

"Thanks," the brunette muttered.

"Anytime."

Starsky stayed sitting on the toilet, and Hutch stood there, bloody washcloth still in his hand.

"Sorry I ran out like that."

Kneeling in front of him, Hutch looked him in the eye. "It's all right, Starsk. You had a lot on your mind."

"Yeah, but I didn't need to leave."

"Look at it this way, we got Mark cold-turkey now."

They both jumped to their feet when the apartment door crashed opened. Running out to the living room, they weren't too shocked to find Mark standing there with his buddy Rocco, grinning sinisterly at them.

"Go runnin' to your boyfriend, didja?" Mark sneered.

"No, I didn't say anything," Starsky lied.

"I don't believe you. I'll just have to get you two out of the way for a while, now, won't I?"

The two big guys came at them, and Starsky put up as much a fight as he could muster. His head was throbbing painfully, and it wasn't hard for Mark to get the upper hand and wrench his arms behind his back, and hold him.

They watched as Rocco connected with a hard right to Hutch's cheek, sending the blonde sprawling to the floor. Rocco reached down and dragged him to his feet, pinning his arms in the same way.

"Let's get them to the room, quick, before anyone sees us."

Starting for the door, the two detectives were dragged from the room as if they were rag dolls.


	4. The Truth

_Night And Day_

_Chapter 4: The Truth_

**Author's Notes: **_Black Crystall Draygon –_ Once again, thank you. And you'll be glad to hear, there's even more slashiness in this chapter! And hey, at least when one of the gets hurt, the other's always there to comfort, right?

_Susan217 – _Thank ya muchly for the review. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

_Oni3 – _As always, thanks a ton. I'm not sure if a sequel would work, but I could see what happens, and really there's only one more chapter after this one... sorry!

SLASH WARNING!!!! But it's GREEEAAAT!!!! Enjoy!

* * *

Hutch knew struggling against the large man who dragged him bodily along was pointless. He was three times larger, and many more times meaner. Starsky, however, continued to fight, punctuating the quiet with loud curses.

Finally having enough, Mark brought a beefy fist down on the back of his head, knocking him out.

"St-stop!" Hutch yelled, cursing himself for nearly saying his name.

Mark slung the unconscious body over his shoulder, and they moved on in silence.

Hutch tried to remember every turn they took, but as they went down to the basement of the apartment building, too many twists and turns and darkened hallways left him confused. Were they still under the building?

He was pulled to an abrupt stop, and in the dim light of the hallway, he watched Mark open a door. Hutch was shoved inside first, then Starsky, who was thrown onto the floor.

"Enjoy your new home," Mark said, then slammed the door.

Left alone in the nearly pitch-black room, Hutch went over to Starsky, cradling his head in his lap. He leaned back against the wall, running his fingers absently through the dark curls. It was always soothing to Starsky, whether he be sick or injured, and Hutch found it calmed himself, as well.

_Well,_ he thought. _At least we're together. This may be the first that's ever happened._

Sitting in the dark, Hutch looked down at his partner's battered face, felt a wave of regret wash over him. _Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have kissed him. If I hadn't, he never would have walked out, and this never would have happened!_ He was angry, at himself for driving Starsky to leave, and at Mark for the being the bad guy.

After a short while, Hutch felt Starsky's head move.

"Hey, buddy, you with me?"

The curly-haired man groaned, and steely blue eyes opened slowly. "Hutch?"

"No, it's the Queen of England," Hutch replied warmly.

"Musta got hit harder than I thought. What h'pned?"

Hutch smiled at the slur in his voice. "You got knocked out," he explained.

"Oh."

Helping Starsky to a sitting position, Hutch looked him in the eye. "How do you feel?"

"You kinda look like my partner, your Majesty," Starsky told him, smirking.

"Well, your sense of humor's intact."

Hutch leaned back, looked around the small room. It was littered with boxes, an old mop bucket, and an array of other junk. There were no windows, but an old air vent in the ceiling. The only light poured in through the small window in the door, and even that was dim.

"Why are we sitting on the floor in a dark room?" Starsky's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Because Mark and Rocco put us here," Hutch said. "Oh, no, Starsk."

"What?"

Hutch turned to him. "Didn't you tell me they were going after Bunny?"

"We have to get the hell out of here, Hutch!"

"We're stuck," Hutch said quietly. "I heard at least three locks when he closed the door..." he trailed off, staring ahead at the door opposite where he was sitting.

The brunette struggled to his feet, still leaning heavily on the wall.

"Hey, be careful! You're still a little out of it!"

Starsky held his balance, began to pace. "If he hurts Bunny, I'll kill him," he muttered, ignoring Hutch's chiding.

"I'm already gonna kill him for hurting you."

He paused in his pacing, stared at the other man. "Hutch..."

The blond man stood. "No, don't." He grabbed Starsky by the shoulders. "I told you I wouldn't be able to watch him hurt you, and damned if I can't stand to the see the after-effects, either."

Starsky smiled lightly, though it never reached his eyes. "Hutch, what's going on with you? You know the risk is part of the job."

Hutch froze. He'd almost let it slip, and now he was being asked directly. "I just worry about you, pal, okay?"

"Worrying is fine, but you're moving to mother-hen stage."

The blond's hands slid away from Starsky's shoulders. "I didn't realize. Sorry." He turned to walk away, knowing he was doing precisely what Starsky had done earlier, but was stopped when his partner's arms came around him from behind, and he felt a warm head pressing into his back.

"Hutch," his voice was muffled as he spoke into his shirt. "I'm sorry I ran out today."

Hutch reached up to squeeze the hands clasped around his midsection. "It was my fault." He felt Starsky shaking his head.

"I didn't hafta leave. I got scared."

"Because of what happened?"

"Yeah. I know it was only for show, but still..." his voice trailed off.

Hutch stayed silent. _But it wasn't for show, Starsk, _he thought. _It wasn't for show at all._ He swallowed the lump in his throat, licked his lips. "I'm sorry I freaked you out, Gordo," he said.

The use of the nickname had Starsky grinning into Hutch's back. "S'ok, Blintz." He gave another squeeze, then stepped back.

Hutch reluctantly let go of his hands. He wanted to tell him everything, just let it all out, but he couldn't... he wouldn't. Starsky wasn't ready to hear it.

Instead, they roamed around the room, searching for something that could help them get out. Starsky leaned heavily against the door. The old wood groaned. "We might be able to bust the door down," he suggested.

Hutch nodded. "Let's give it a try."

They moved back from the door, standing close to the opposite wall. "On three," Hutch said. "Three... two—"

"Wait a minute," Starsky interrupted. "You said 'on three.' You should be counting up."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," he told him in a serious tone. "I don't wanna hit that door alone."

"Okay, fine. I'll count up. One... two... three!"

The two charged at the door, using their shoulders to strike it. They heard a few pops and cracks, but the old wood held.

"Again?" asked Hutch.

Starsky nodded and they backed up again.

"On three again. One... two... three!"

They rushed toward the door. Halfway across the room, Starsky tripped over the mop bucket, stepping into it. Suddenly, he was sliding across the floor, hurtling toward the door, and his partner.

Hutch stopped before he hit the door, noticing Starsky wasn't beside him. He heard a sound from behind him and turned, just in time to see his partner flying toward him, his foot stuck in the old mop bucket.

Starsky uttered a yell a second before he collided into Hutch, and the two of them went crashing into the door.

The hinges on the door snapped, and it swung open, dumping them on the floor. Hutch, who had taken the worst of the fall, groaned as they landed.

Starsky opened his eyes, surprised to find himself laying on top of Hutch, and that they were in the hallway. "You okay?"

"I'll say it again, ya meathead. Lay off the beef burritos."

The other man laughed, moved to get off his partner. His foot was still stuck in the bucket, however, and when he put pressure on it, it slid sideways. Starsky lost his balance, and before he could get his hands under him, toppled onto Hutch again, this time smashing their faces together.

Aquamarine eyes went wide. Hutch suddenly realized that all he had to do was move his head slightly to the side, and they would be kissing. The temptation was there. "Starsk," he said, voice hoarse and quiet. He looked up into his partner's eyes, and was pinned motionless beneath an intense look.

"Earlier, when you kissed me," Starsky began, his voice barely above a whisper. "All I could think about was having a chance to do that again. I don't even care if it's right."

"Starsk." He had to tell him, had to say what he needed to say, but Starsky's eyes were still boring into his, and Starsky's head was turning, ever so slightly, to brush their lips together.

Hutch felt something explode inside him, decided it must be his heart. But then, what was melting?

Starsky's eyes were still on his, but the intense look was gone. Now, the cobalt blue darkened, softened, and then drifted close altogether. He pressed his lips harder to Hutch's.

Hutch allowed his own eyes to close, and had a ridiculously fleeting thought of how silly they must look, lying on a cold, dark floor, with Starsky's foot stuck in an old mop bucket. He finally relaxed, wound his arms around his partner.

Starsky felt Hutch relax into the kiss, couldn't help the relief that swam through him. He wasn't sure what brought on his boldness, but being that close to his face, to those lips, his heart had taken over, left his brain running to catch up. He hadn't expected this. He was waiting for Hutch to push him off, blame it on the head wound, but he didn't. In fact, Hutch was pulling him closer, moving his lips beneath Starsky's.

They broke away, staring at each other. Hutch broke the silence first, clearing his throat. "We have to get to Bunny," he said.

Starsky blinked, then scrambled to his feet, kicking off the bucket as he did so. He reached down, grabbed Hutch's hand and hauled him off the floor.

"How's your head?"

"Hurts," Starsky replied. "But then, so does my lip, my nose, and now my shoulder."

There was one moment of awkward silence as they stood in the hallway. The two men stared at each other, a little uncomfortable as to what had just transpired. Finally, Starsky shook his head.

"We don't have time for this right now. Bunny needs our help."

Hutch grinned at him. "Such a hero," he teased. "But you're right, we have to find our way of here, and now."

They started down the hall, moving as fast as Starsky's throbbing head would allow them. Hutch tried to recall the turns they made, took the lead since Starsky was passed out. They reached a staircase, and Starsky leaned against the wall.

"You all right?" Hutch asked.

"Feels like I got run over by a Mack Truck."

"His name is Mark," Hutch calmly explained. "And he's a bad guy."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "This has to lead up to the apartment building. I don't know where else it would take us."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

The two bounded up the stairs, found that they were now on the first floor of the apartment building. They moved fast, but tried to look nonchalant, as they made their way to the elevator.

When the doors opened, they were glad to see to it was empty, and stepped onto the lift. Hutch pushed the button for the third floor, waited until the doors had closed before he spoke.

"We'll head to the apartment, call Dobey, and grab our guns."

"Maybe I should just go up, and leave you to the details," Starsky suggested, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Hell no, Starsk. You're not going up there without backup."

Resigned, Starsky followed Hutch to the apartment. Hutch grabbed the phone right away, while the other ran into the bedroom to get their guns.

"Cap'n? It's Hutch. Starsky and I know the identity of the murderer, and we need backup. He's going after someone right now. Yeah... yeah.. okay. Good." He replaced the receiver just as his partner came out of the bedroom, handed him his holster. "Dobey's sending some units. Let's go bust him."

"With pleasure," Starsky said. They ran out of the room and up the stairs to the fourth floor. They reached Bunny's door in silence, one on either side. Starsky pressed his ear to it, heard the sound of punches landing. He nodded to Hutch, who nodded back.

Starsky kicked on the door, yelling "Police!" as loud as he could. They heard the shuffling of feet, and things in the apartment being knocked over. Hutch jumped in front of the door, kicking it open. As they ran in, they saw Rocco and Mark climbing out the window. Mark paused to stare at them.

"How the hell did you two get out of the room?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is, we're cops," Hutch told him, pulling out his badge, "and you're under arrest."

"Like hell!" Mark said, and disappeared out the window.

Hutch ran after him, and Starsky ran over to the fallen Bunny, who was lying on the floor.

"Bunny, Bunny!" He knelt on the floor, gently shook the man's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

The thinner man stirred. "Dave? Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." He opened one eye, stared dazedly around the room.

Starsky felt a swell of pity for him. He was beaten pretty badly, and probably had several broken ribs. "Okay, you just stay there. Ken and I will be back."

Bunny just nodded, and passed out again.

Starsky raised his gun, started for the window. He heard shots, looked out quickly. Hutch was still on the fire escape, firing at Rocco, who had produced a gun from somewhere.

"Hutch!" he called.

The other man looked up briefly. "Starsk, Mark went up to the roof. Go after him. I'll handle this."

"You sure?"

"Yes, now go!"

Starsky ran back through the apartment, out into the hall. He bolted for the stairwell, and took the steps two at a time up to the roof. Once at the door, he paused, took several deep breaths. Then he turned, kicked the door open, and crouched with his gun held before him.

His eyes widened at a metal lawn chair that was flying toward his head. He jumped to the side, clumsily rolling out of the way, as the chair slammed into the stairwell. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up just in time to see Mark running at him, knife brandishing in his right hand.

Grabbing for his gun, he nearly froze when he couldn't find it. He rolled again, away from the large ape-like man coming at him, and felt the cold steel touch his hand. He raised it quickly, leveling the barrel at Mark. 

"Drop it," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Mark stopped short, let the knife fall from his hand. It clattered to the rooftop. He held his hands up, wanting so badly to try to take the man's head off.

"So, you're cops, are ya?" he asked. "I knew there was a reason I hated you, pig."

"Yeah? That's nice. I wasn't plannin' on askin' you out for coffee or anything," Starsky told him, climbing to his feet. "Especially now that you'll be spending a nice long time in jail."

As Starsky held his gun on Mark, not quite sure how to even begin to cuff the large man, who could pop his head off like a zit, Hutch was still on the fire escape, waiting for the backup that should have been there by now.

Rocco was concealed behind a car on the ground, and he behind the bars of the landing. Hutch muttered a thousand "Thank you's" as he heard the sirens nearing. He looked down to the ground. Rocco was glancing down the street, then back up at Hutch, probably wondering if he could make a run for it. When he tried, Hutch fired again, stopping the man from going anywhere. Giving the detective a wilting look, Rocco fired off another shot, and got lucky. Hutch felt the bullet enter his arm, and exit out the back. He uttered a yell, dropped his gun. When the uniforms finally pulled up to Rocco, he dropped his gun and surrendered.

Hutch grasped his arm, felt warm blood slick his hand. _Gotta get to Starsk,_ he thought, jumping up from his crouching position. He retrieved his gun with his left hand, started up the steps to the roof.

He saw Starsky holding his gun on Mark, and Mark who seemed to be weighing whether or not he could take the much smaller man.

Hutch shoved his gun into his pants. He came up behind Mark, grabbed a thick wrist. "Don't try it, Mark. Starsk's got a hell of an aim." He wrenched the man's arm behind his back, feeling more than a bit of satisfaction as he yelled in pain. "Starsk, need a hand here."

His partner kept his gun trained on Mark, walked around him. "Hutch! You're shot!"

"I know I'm shot, that's why I need a hand." Between the two of them, they cuffed Mark, gave him a shove toward the door. Hutch looked at Starsky. "Are you all right?"

Starsky lifted a shoulder. "Yeah, I'm good. Almost got assaulted by a chair, though." He paused for a moment, then reached out to tug Hutch's jacket down. "Ew, that looks nasty."

"Let's take him in and book him."

"Uh-uh," Starsky said, shaking his head. "The blues can book him. You're going to the hospital."

TBC....


	5. Time off together

_Night and Day_

_Chapter Five: Time off... together_

**Author's Notes: **Thank you again for everyone who reviewed, and for those of you who read and didn't review, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

**Black Crystall Draygon: **As always, your review made me giggle. I'm glad you like it, and I'm sure my days of writing S&H fanfiction are far from over.

**Oni3: **Die?? Why would anyone die?! I'm far too protective of my own characters, much less someone else's!! Anyway, thank you so much for your reviews!

**Freddie:** Thanks! And you won't actually have to bug me too much. I love Starsky, and I love Hutch, and I absolutely adore writing fanfiction.

**Blintz: **Dude, you rock. I love ya! It makes me all giddy and happy when I know I reduce you to girly sighs and giggles.

And now, the final chapter of Night and Day. Enjoy, and don't panic, I'll be back with something else soon!

* * *

"Good job. After that assignment, I think you deserve a few days off."

Starsky stared at Dobey. "Aw, Cap, I thought you liked us."

The black man's face turned purple. "Starsky! Take care of your partner, and I don't wanna see either of you until Friday!"

"Oh, terrific," Starsky muttered. "Just in time to work the weekend."

"Starsky, I could make it Monday, of _this_ week!"

He backed toward the door. "Friday it is, Cap. See ya."

"And don't slam the door!" Dobey yelled. It was too late, and Starsky had already kicked the door shut, making the walls shake.

He stopped by his desk to grab his keys, then headed out the door to the garage, jumping in the Torino. Hutch was still at the hospital, and had almost had to call security to get Starsky to leave. The brunette insisted on staying, until Hutch told him that if he didn't get back to the station and write the report, Dobey would have both their heads. He wanted to see Bunny, too. In the few days he and Hutch had been undercover, he'd grown fond of him, considered him a good friend.

Parking in a space near the door, Starsky whistled as he entered the hospital, headed to Hutch's room first. He was sitting on the side of the bed, trying in vain to tie his shoes. Since his arm was in a sling, and he'd been told he couldn't use it, he was barely dressed.

"Look at you," Starsky commented. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes before you fall apart on me."

Hutch sent him a warning look. "Well, _partner_, would you care to help an invalid?"

"An invalid, no. You, of course." He approached him, and began to laugh. Hutch's shirt was unbuttoned, his pants were unbuttoned, and he was trying to put his shoes on the wrong feet. "My God, Hutch. You look terrible."

"May I remind you that you are the one with two black eyes, thanks to that punch in the nose, a gash on his forehead, and a split lip?"

"Better than looking like Rosie was attempting to dress herself." Starsky knelt down, switched Hutch's shoes, then tied them. "Now, stand up so I can button you up."

Hutch slid off the bed, let Starsky button his shirt, and only blushed a light pink when he buttoned his pants. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Anytime, babe." Starsky's grin faded, and he pulled Hutch into a hug. "Stop getting hurt," he said. "I don't like it."

Hutch held his partner with his uninjured arm, smiled. "I don't particularly like it, myself."

"Ready to go? We need to go up to the third floor, see Bunny."

Hutch nodded, released his partner, but squeezed his hand. "Then we need to talk."

"All in good time, my friend."

The wounded Bunny was sitting in bed, propped up on pillows, picking at food when they walked in.

His face lit up when he saw them. "Ken! Dave! You guys look terrible."

"Hey, Bunny," Starsky greeted, walking to the bed. "You're lookin' a bit terrible, too. How ya feelin'?"

He shrugged, dropped his fork onto his plate. "Sore. The doctor says I can go home tomorrow."

"That's great!" Starsky told him.

"So you guys are cops, huh?"

Hutch stepped forward, sat on the edge of the bed not occupied by Starsky. "Yeah. We were put in undercover to find out who murdered George."

"And what about me?" Bunny asked. "Am I in trouble?"

"Your record's been wiped clean. You're not on the run anymore," Starsky assured him.

Bunny just nodded once, but his face looked relieved. "Problem is, I don't really have a home anymore, not since the warehouse was shut down."

Starsky looked down. He had felt bad about that since Clinton was arrested. How many others like Bunny were there that had no homes or jobs now?

"Well, Bunny," Hutch piped up. "You're welcome to use my apartment for a while, I'll probably won't be spending too much time there."

Bunny's brown eyes lit up. "Really? Where will you be?"

Hutch grinned. "At his place."

The man looked at the two, and smiled. "Ha! I knew it!"

"Well," Starsky turned blue eyes to Hutch. "It was your fault, ya know."

Bunny stared at him. "How?"

"If you hadn't shown up that day, Hutch never would have kissed me, and we'd never be where we are now."

To the detective's amazement, the bed-ridden man burst into tears. Starsky leaned in quickly, one hand on his back. "Bunny? What's wrong?"

"It's just so, so... beautiful!"

Hutch started laughing, he couldn't help it. Starsky looked at him helplessly, then back to Bunny. "We have you to thank for it, Bunny," he said quietly, kissing the man on the cheek.

"Oh Dave, you are just too cute," Bunny said with a sniff. "I think I'd have to pick you."

"Pick me for what?"

"Pick you to hit on if you two ever break up."

Hutch laughed even harder, and Starsky blushed. Leaning in, he whispered quietly in the man's ear, so low even Hutch couldn't hear it. Bunny burst into laughter, then looked at Hutch. "So, Hutch, since you've been shot, how are you planning on writing?"

The blond rolled his eyes and fixed Starsky with a death glare. He raised his left hand, shook his finger at him. "That's not fair," he said. "I don't have a choice, here."

"I never did," Starsky told him. "It's not like I _wanted_ to be left-handed."

"I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"

Starsky laughed, "Nope," he said. He leaned over and patted Bunny on the back. "Well, pal, we're gonna get goin'. We're hungry, and we have most of the week off. We'll be back tomorrow morning."

"All right, thanks for everything. See you in the morning." Bunny paused, then said, "Have a good night," and waggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah, we will, Bunny," Starsky assured him, giving Hutch a good swat on the backside as they walked out of the room.

The two swung by Hutch's apartment so he could pick up some clothes and water his plants, then they went to Starsky's. Starsky made what he considered a meal fit for a king, and the two ate in relative silence. Hutch hadn't even argued when a heaping beef burrito was set down in front of him, though Starsky had enjoyed watching him try to eat it.

After the food was eaten and the dishes washed, the two threw themselves on the couch to relax for the first time in over week. Starsky turned on the television, and they settled down to watch a movie.

"How's your arm?" he asked.

Hutch looked down at the sling. "Feels okay. Better now that I'm here."

"Yeah, about that," Starsky began. "What exactly is this?"

His partner shrugged. _Time to be truthful,_ he thought. "To be completely honest with you, Gordo, I've known what I was feeling for a long time. But I was happy to just be your best friend, your partner. Then this assignment came along..."

"And messed everything up," Starsky finished for him. "We were always close, Hutch. Anything was wrong, I called you. You are the first thing I think about in the morning, and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep."

"It was to the point where if I didn't see you at least once a day, or talk to you on the phone, I missed the hell out of you." Hutch was staring at the television, but now turned eyes to his partner. "Do you think this will work?"

"Who knows? But I sure as hell think we should try."

Hutch yawned, then groaned. "Pain medication is wearing off, and I'm exhausted."

"Then let's get some much deserved sleep," Starsky suggested. He stood, pulled Hutch to his feet.

They went into the bedroom, and Starsky helped Hutch change, then pulled on his own sweats. After brushing their teeth, they crawled beneath the covers on Starsky's bed, lying on their backs.

"Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

Hutch's left hand found his partner's right, squeezed. "I love you."

"Love you, too, babe. Good night."


End file.
